Tuesday, February 14, 2017

Haiti’s Eroding Democracy: Haiti has a new president. But Jovenel Moïse’s right-wing coalition is far from stable.

After more than
a year of delays, Haiti finally elected a new president this past November.
Jovenel Moïse — nicknamed the Banana Man — scored a first-round victory in a
sprawling field of 27 candidates, taking over 55% of the vote. The banana
exporter, who has never held public office, was inaugurated on Feb. 7.

The previous president, Michel “Sweet Micky” Martelly, seemingly plucked
Moïse out of nowhere last year, making him the new face of the Haitian
Bald-Headed Party (PHTK). Moïse’s win is an extraordinary
achievement for a political neophyte, but it has one glaring problem: only 20%
of Haiti’s voters showed up on election day. Moïse became president with less than 10% of registered voters – only about
600,000 votes — supporting him.

Haiti stands as a stark reminder of
the fragility of electoral democracy amid rising inequality and exclusion.
After the fall of the Duvalier dictatorship in 1986, Haiti’s poor
majority turnedout en masse for general elections, but that
cycle appears to be broken. Today, Haiti ranks among the lowest worldwide in
terms of voter participation.

Why have Haitians lost faith in
electoral democracy? Certainly, the impact of foreign intervention, the crushing constraints of
neoliberalism, and the prioritization of economic stability over democracy all played a
part. The disappointments and betrayals of left-leaning political leaders, put
into office by Haiti’s once-powerful popular movements, only add to this sense of
apathy.

Meanwhile, the ruling elite have
allied with the last vestiges of Duvalierism to accomplish what they never before
could: consolidation of power through elections. After two decades of failed
runs and successful antidemocratic subversion, the dominant classes have
finally retaken the political upper hand.

But how long can they hold on? The
recent arrest and prompt extradition of senator-elect and former paramilitary
coup leader Guy Philippe, indicted for drug trafficking and money laundering,
has revealed the incoming administration’s darker side. Moïse openly campaigned
with Philippe, and his party’s power stems from the electoral success of other
unsavory characters.

Whether Moïse’s election presages
the dawning of a stable neo-Duvalierist order or simply marks another cycle in
Haiti’s political spiral remains to be seen. But Moïse’s rule is inherently
precarious.

Growing Apathy

A few days
after the November election, residents of Port-au-Prince’s Cité Soleil
community took turns expressing their frustration with the country’s
politicians. A young man explained, “I don’t care who wins, they are all the
same.” An English teacher named Fritz interjected, “People ask, what’s the
point? They see nobody has done anything to change our situation, so they lose
faith in voting.” While Cité Soleil has long supported Jean-Bertrand Aristide’s Fanmi Lavalas party,
only about 10 percent of the neighborhood voted in November. This time, many of
them chose Moïse.

“There are obvious weaknesses and
limitations within Fanmi Lavalas,” Brian Concannon, the director of the
Institute for Justice and Democracy in Haiti, told me after the election. “But
much of that can be explained by the undermining and overthrowing of the
Lavalas governments, which prevented them from demonstrating how democracy can
work, and the killing, jailing, and exiling of important leaders.”

When Fanmi Lavalas emerged, it
promised to restore Haitian democracy following the years of dictatorship. Its
leader, liberation theology priest Aristide, had openly opposed Duvalier and easily won Haiti’s first democratic elections in
1990. But just months into his term the old order ousted the popular president,
who was forced into exile. Members of the military and the dictatorship created
death squads to repress the population and stamp out the popular movement that
threatened its rule, killing thousands. In 1995, Haiti disbanded its military,
hoping to prevent further coups.

After returning under the protection
of American troops in 1994, Aristide became president again in 2000. With no
military structure, former soldiers instead allied with elites to lead a
years-long destabilization effort.

Philippe — the now extradited
senator-elect — played an important role in this campaign. His paramilitary
force attacked government institutions and supporters throughout the country,
contributing to Aristide’s second ouster in 2004. In both cases, it was later
revealed that at least certain segments of the American government had
supported the coups.

Meanwhile, international development
banks and foreign governments were imposing neoliberal economic policies on
Haiti. They privatized state-run enterprises, cutting off the government’s
much-needed financing, and slashed tariffs, seriously harming Haiti’s national
agricultural production. In 2010, former president Bill Clinton apologized for
the impact of some of these policies, though little has been done to reverse
the damage.

Fault lies with some of Haiti’s own
leaders as well. René Préval, president under the Lavalas banner from
1995–2000, was reelected 2006. By then, however, he had built his own political
movement and distanced himself from his former ally, who had become enmeshed in
allegations of human rights abuses. Unwilling to cede power to a new generation
of leaders, Aristide watched from exile in South Africa as the movement that
had broken the shackles of Duvalierism splintered apart. In 2015, former
Lavalas members were running under the banner of just about every major party –
even the PHTK.

Twenty years after Duvalier’s fall,
living standards had declined, and people began to doubt that elections would
produce social transformation. Only two million participated in the 2006
elections, compared to the almost three million who voted six years prior. The
decline has only continued. Since then, the number of eligible voters has grown
by 2.5 million, but barely more than a million turned out last year.

Haitians’ trust in politicians and
their faith in democracy has evaporated as foreign donors have poured billions
of dollars into “democracy promotion” programs and a UN military
“stabilization” mission that arrived after the 2004 coup to enforce order.
Donors fund elections; observers sanctify them; and Haitian elites reap the
benefits.

Stability

Stability has
been a buzzword in Haiti for years, justifying both international interventions
and the Haitian elite’s decisions. But prioritizing economic stability over
democracy hasn’t improved lives for the poor; rather, it’s ensured that the
status quo continues. “[The elites] want stability for themselves, not to improve
people’s lives,” Pierre Espérance, the leader of one of Haiti’s largest human
rights organizations, told me.

Indeed, creating a stable
environment for business doesn’t have anything to do with creating stability
nationwide. A former U.S. Ambassador to Haiti explained that, for the private
sector, “prosperity works, chaos works, and disaster, ooh! They never get
richer than during a disaster.”

Elections are held to create a
veneer of democracy that masks the country’s inequality. The former ambassador
said, “There’s no doubt in my mind that money runs Haiti” and now questions who
really wants elections: the Haitian people or the international community.
“Frankly, I’d say the international community does.”

These contradictions came to a head
with the 2010 earthquake and the elections held later that same year.

After the quake, the Haitian
government was barely functioning, bogged down trying to assist the millions of
victims. The billions of dollars in international aid that poured into the
country did not go to the struggling government. Instead, it was channeled to
foreign NGOs and development agencies — most of which rely on the country’s
elite to carry out their work. In a country often called the “republic of
NGOs,” the government’s role in citizens’ lives eroded even further.

President René Préval, who was
harshly criticized for the government’s ineffectiveness during the crisis,
refused to cede greater control to international donors. When he rejected a
Clinton-led reconstruction commission’s request to seize and allocate land, he
isolated himself even further. This, he believes, led donors — and the United
States specifically — to turn on his chosen successor in the 2010 elections.

That November, more than a million
people remained displaced from the earthquake. The elections were, predictably,
a complete failure. Turnout was depressed, the Lavalas party was excluded, and
violence disrupted the process throughout the country.

In the aftermath, a majority of
candidates called for a new vote. Behind the scenes, the Préval government,
whose chosen successor, Jude Célestin, had advanced to the runoff in second
place, agreed to a do-over. But, from the international community’s
perspective, stability meant moving forward, no matter the resulting blow to
democracy.

Préval asked, the Organization of
American States (OAS), which had observed the elections, to analyze the
results. Without any statistical analysis or recount, they determined that
Célestin should be replaced by Martelly in the second round.

According to multiple sources, a
small team from the American embassy had made the decision before the OAS
experts ever set foot in the country. In the midst of historic upheaval in the
Middle East and North Africa, Hillary Clinton, then serving as secretary of
state, took time to personally go to Haiti to make sure everything moved
forward smoothly.

E-mails from Clinton’s private
server, released thanks to Freedom of Information Act requests, show how the
American government collaborated with the Haitian elite to place Martelly in
the second round. Reginald Boulos, an influential businessman, wrote to
Clinton’s top aide, Cheryl Mills: “On behalf of the Haitian private sector, I
want to thank you for the commitment you have shown to Haiti.”

After the United States used the OAS
to overturn the results of the 2010 elections, the perception that Haiti’s
leaders were chosen by foreign embassies and their local allies was confirmed,
rendering voting virtually meaningless. Meanwhile, international donors, having
put Martelly in office, stood by the charismatic new president, who announced
that Haiti was “open for business.”

The 2010 election would have another
long-term consequence: the consolidation of a neo-Duvalierist political
movement.

Lord Logic

A month before
this year’s election, a diplomatic source told me that “there are three kings
in Haiti: Préval, Aristide, and the Duvalierists.” If the vast majority of the
political class originates from the first two, the latter has empowered the
PHTK. Indeed, Martelly has long-standing ties to the Duvalier dictatorship.

As the “bad boy” of Haitian konpa
music, he played late-night shows for military friends through the late 1980s
and early 1990s. He’s also admitted to belonging to Duvalier’s dreaded Tonton
Macoute militia in his youth.

Martelly campaigned around “ousting
the political class,” as former prime minister and the then-president’s cousin
Jean-Max Bellerive told me in 2015. He explained, however, that Haitian
politics have always depended on personal connections: “Inside, everything is
possible.” Indeed, once Martelly became president, he repaid his sponsors,
making Jean-Claude “Baby Doc” Duvalier’s son his adviser. Other
dictatorship-era officials spread throughout the administration. Martelly also
put the restoration of the military at the heart of this new movement.

In January 2015, parliamentary terms
lapsed, rendering the legislative branch dysfunctional and allowing Martelly to
rule by decree. For four years, the Haitian government didn’t hold a single
election; the constitution required three. Martelly single-handedly appointed
mayors and other local officials.

According to Damian Merlo, an American political consultant
who worked for Martelly’s campaign and stayed on after his victory, a
“Duvalierist clique” tried to convince Martelly to continue to delay elections.
But the plan to consolidate power unconstitutionally was prevented. The
long-splintered opposition came together, taking to the streets and demanding
elections. The old guard – which had helped overthrow democratically elected
governments twice in two decades – would have to hold onto its power through
the ballot box.

They overreached. Across the
country, armed men disrupted the vote during the legislative elections. Even
the electoral council, widely perceived to be under Martelly’s influence, acknowledged that the PHTK and its allies were
largely responsible for this electoral intimidation.

These tactics paid off during the
presidential elections a few months later as the vast majority of Haitians
stayed home. With turnout depressed, those with the most money stood to
benefit, as any advantage they had would be magnified.

At the time, Jovenel Moïse was
relatively unknown. He had been a businessman in Haiti’s Nord-Est department
and served as president of the local chamber of commerce. In 2014, the Martelly
government invested millions in his company, Agritrans S.A., to develop an
agricultural “free trade” zone. Despite his lack of political experience, the
PHTK’s strategy launched him into the lead.

Pascale Roussy, a political analyst
with the European Union election observation mission, explained that “whereas
other parties are built from the bottom up, PHTK represents the oligarchy, the
elite.” By keeping turnout low, they intensified local power brokers’
influence.

“It’s lord logic,” she continued.
“They may not be part of PHTK, but the local leader wants to maintain control
of his area for himself, not just for the party.” Roudy Choute, a PHTK
representative, put it more succinctly, noting that elections in Haiti are a
“science”: “We get local candidates, they bring their voters, and they’ll also
vote for president.”

In 2015, this almost worked: Moïse
officially received the most votes but failed to win outright. The next three
candidates — all from the center-left — received 200,000 more votes combined
then he did.

Tens of thousands took to the
streets, alleging that Martelly had stacked the deck to ensure his party’s hold
on power. They called for an investigation into electoral violence and fraud. The
administration and its international allies adamantly forged ahead to a runoff
based on the contested results, but they underestimated the united opposition’s
power. As the movement grew, the second-round election was indefinitely
postponed.

When Martelly’s term officially
ended in February 2016, he reluctantly transferred power to former
minister-turned-senator Jocelerme Privert. The interim president immediately
called for a commission to investigate the elections, which revealed “massive
fraud” and recommended that the results be thrown out.

The report represented a serious
blow to foreign embassies used to getting their way. But investigating the
election was the only way faith in Haiti’s democracy could be restored, Privert
told me at the time. “[Elections] have one objective: to save the country, to
spare the country from political catastrophe. . . . It is anarchy, or [a]
future,” he said about the new electoral process.

The United States responded by
withholding funding, but the Haitian government found the resources to fund the
elections itself — a first in recent history and a major step toward
sovereignty.

There’s a saying in Haiti that
Haitians will come together to oust a president but not to elect one.
Espérance, the human rights leader who led the 2015 antifraud movement,
recognizes this as a main factor in the 2016 election outcome. “Political
parties don’t want to work together. . . . There are too many, and they are
very weak.”

The leading opposition candidates
could not unite around a common platform, so they all stayed in the race,
dividing the Left. Meanwhile, on the Right, key private-sector actors lined up
behind Moïse. Thanks to a year-long election process, campaign funding soon
dried up. In November, the still disenchanted majority stayed home again. In
the end, the pro-democracy mobilizations had proved no more than a speed bump
in the way of Haiti’s new political machine.

Legal Bandits

The losing
parties contested the results, once again raising allegations of fraud, but most
international observers praised November’s electoral process. Espérance, who
led the largest domestic observer network, agreed that the elections were
largely “acceptable.” He quickly added, however, “We can’t have free elections
under the current electoral system.” And that makes Espérance pessimistic: “We
have a newly elected president, but you can’t expect anything.” Since the
election, he has received multiple death threats.

Granted, Haitian ownership of the
electoral process had increased, and technical improvements were made. But
November’s elections made it even more clear that a deeper threat had been
simmering for some time: Haiti’s elections no longer serve as a means of
representative democracy but have become a theatrical performance to ensure
international legitimacy and a steady flow of profit and power to the country’s
corrupted elite and their local allies.

With Jovenel Moïse’s election, which
came with a working majority in parliament, these criminal elements have
consolidated their power and ensured the continuance, however fragile, of
Martelly’s neo-Duvalierist legacy.

Martelly was a controversial
provocateur notorious for bawdy stage performances, but Moïse has become, at
least on the surface, a more polished figure. One diplomatic source said that
when the candidate first came to his embassy in 2015, he was wearing a suit
several sizes too big, awkwardly draped over his tall, lanky frame. By the 2016
election, Moïse regularly attended embassy parties, events, and even visited
the U.S. Congress, now sporting neatly tailored suits.

Moïse has pledged to revitalize the
agricultural sector and to prioritize national production. These promises seem
ironic, given that his firm must export at least 70% of its output to benefit
from its special tax status. He has given his word that he’ll better manage the
millions of dollars in foreign assistance and work to strengthen the
government. He has also pledged to reinstate the military, raising fears of a
new wave of political repression.

Although Guy Philippe, perhaps the
best known Haitian leader linked to political violence, made a dramatic exit
from the political sphere, others remain. Youri Latortue, who backed the 1991 coup as a
lieutenant and then allied with Philippe during the 2004 coup, now serves as
president of the Senate. A decade ago, a former U.S. ambassador referred to him
as the “poster-boy for political corruption in Haiti.” In 2015, the Miami Heraldused a popular 2008 Martelly
song, “Bandi Legal” or “Legal Bandits,” to refer to the
incoming parliament.

Moïse himself was embroiled in controversy before ever taking
office. An investigation launched in 2013 by Haiti’s anticorruption body
revealed dozens of questionable bank transactions involving his businesses. A
government prosecutor is currently reviewing the file to determine if
money-laundering charges are warranted.

Will this strategy of elite
alliances and local influence maintain right-wing rule in Haiti? Three decades
of near-constant foreign intervention and the failures of Haiti’s traditional
political class have weakened and divided the country’s once strong and united
democracy movement. Elite control, at least in the short term, is now all but
ensured.

But the foundation for this
“stability” has been built with kindling. With so many excluded from their
country’s politics, the viability of Haiti’s electoral democracy as a path
toward constitutional order and stability has been diminished.More than 200 years since Haitian independence, the struggle for freedom
will find other expressions.